jigsaw puzzles.
I love them. I can spend hours on a good NY skyline, or a 3000 piece parisian scene. There’s a method, a structure, a strategy.
You start with the perimeters, the boundaries (yes, I’m that person) then come the main focal points, and then you begin to fill in the bits in between. Piece by piece.
Its a bit like life I suppose. ( How trite am I? I blame Paris) you have your boundaries. Birth and death, the main focal points. The things you’ll get to eventually, such as marriage, children, a job, retirement… though when and how are still unknown. And then there are all those thousands of tiny pieces, the day to day, the tiny events that once they are all placed next to each other will somehow form the big picture, they will somehow take you from marriage to children to….
And then there are those moments of frustration. Of knowing you have the piece somewhere, but not being able to find it. The moments of chance, and the moments of utter satisfaction of having found the right piece, and of having it fit neatly alongside its neighbour.
And then there are moments like last night. The moment when you realise that the piece that you you were so sure of. The one that fits on all four sides, but just needs a little jamming to wedge it in, simply isn’t the right piece.
It doesn’t fit. The corners are all dog-eared from constant pressure to stay flat. But it doesn’t fit.
We.
Don’t fit.
And I realise that I’ve spent months stubbornly jabbing at the wrong piece, hoping it will complete my skyline.
There’s that elusive thing called chemistry. You’ve either got it, or you don’t. It doesn’t have to be sexual. It can be conversational, or physical, or mental, or merely chemical. But you can’t force it. And you sure as hell can’t fake it- sure a little moonlight helps, and stars, and a rakish smile- but they’re only fooling you. Temporary bubbles while the chemical reaction fizzles out.
Life’s simple really. You’ve either got the chemistry, or you don’t. The piece fits. Perfectly. Or it doesn’t.
The only complication is the stubborn hope for the former when only the latter is true.
Here’s to simplicity. To the true butterflies that real chemistry produces, to matching strides, three-hour long conversations, identical thoughts at precisely the same time.
Here’s to pieces and people that fit together.
Like a 13 mm wrench to a sign bolt.
And here’s to knowing when to move on to the next piece of the puzzle.
To finding the perfect fit.
Ms. Kelli Brazier F.O.R.G.
“I like to think my kissing skills, and any thing thereafter, are like my cooking skills…i know exactly whats good or bad but i cant for the life of me produce it myself.”
